Chapter 19
The force of the blow had been so sudden, so entirely unexpected, it had damn near taken Delilah's breath away. Never in her wildest dreams would she have expected Hannibal to strike her maliciously — not that she could recall any malice in his eyes beforehand. She hadn't had a chance to think much, in the moment, at all; she could only gasp and reach for her stricken cheek, as she slipped straight off the desk and landed hard on her side — but no sooner had she made contact with the wooden floor than Hannibal's arms were felt, wending around her waist and under her knees, lifting her up to carry her swiftly across the room.
Once he had sat her down upon the settee, he knelt and captured her chin, delicately maneuvering her face to better assess the damage. "Open your mouth for me, slowly," he instructed, and when she hesitated he added a gentle, "please."
With an irritated groan, she tilted her head back and parted her lips; as she did, a sharp burning sensation shot across her inner cheek and she winced, feeling fresh blood seep out onto her tongue.
"Superficial, as expected," he said, sounding rather pleased with himself, as she closed her mouth and shot him a disgruntled moue. "I know it's unpleasant, but mucosal tissue heals quite quickly," he explained, as if this should soothe her. "This will seal itself without a problem, given you are mindful of it."
As she swallowed to rid her tongue of its sticky coating, she stared blankly at him, dumbfounded by his cavalier attitude. "You… you hit me," she said, aiming for accusatory though her words came out more so wounded and confused.
"I know," he murmured, frowning some. "It wouldn't do to have them find you untouched amidst all this…" Hannibal released her face to gesture at the room as a whole. "And Jack still has his misgivings about you, mind," he added sternly.
"...Them?"
"The police," he said, and she nodded in vague comprehension.
They stared at each other in silence and Delilah eventually reached out to trace his cheekbone with her fingertips. As his lips curved into a small smile, she drew her hand back and snapped it hard across his face, feeling her middle fingernail catch on his skin in the process; he turned his head sharply along with the blow and became quite still in its wake.
"You hit me, I hit you," she stated, resolute but calm, while watching tiny, red beads rise to the surface of the accidental slit on his cheek.
Wriggling his jaw, he slowly faced her with narrowed eyes; his lips parted slightly, but it seemed he could find no words, and she smiled ruefully at him.
"Didn't meant to scratch you, though," she added softly, grabbing hold of his tie; he didn't immediately pull away, so she chanced tugging him near and was pleasantly surprised when, still, he didn't actively object. Ghosting her lips across his, she leaned forward and slid the tip of her tongue along the thin cut, laving the blood away, before whispering an apology in his ear.
Hannibal canted his head a fraction and his hands suddenly gripped her waist, his fingers digging painfully into her sides.
After a tense moment, he pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her ear. "Quid pro quo, after all," he whispered with a chuckle, the rumble of it against her skin sending a pleasant shiver along her spine. "I should expect nothing less."
Kissing her neck once more, he loosened his hold and leaned back, caressing her hips as he studied her. There was a breathless sort of ardency in his eyes, now, and she felt her heart flutter with the intensity of it. Feeling much too warm and tingly, given the current state of things, she released his tie and folded her hands in her lap.
"I'll get you some ice," he said, rising and stepping away.
Delilah let out a shaky breath and settled back, wincing as the throbbing ache in her face decided to make itself known threefold. As she tried her best to ignore it, a glittering caught her attention and she glanced leftward to find a smattering of glass embedded along her upper arm.
"Oh, perfect," she griped under her breath, averting her eyes to glare at the corpses across the room. Now that she'd noticed the bits of glass, she could feel all the little stings that accompanied them and wished she'd worn a sweater.
When Hannibal returned, a cloth filled with ice in one hand and her belongings dangling from the other, she gratefully took the ice but scowled at him anyway.
"Couldn't you have given me a head's up about the decision to bitchslap me?"
"Ah… no," he replied, setting her shoes down beside her feet. "The likelihood that you would tense up was too great and you'd have been much worse off for it."
Delilah huffed testily — just because she knew he was right didn't mean she had to be pleased about it.
"I truly am sorry," he said quietly.
"I know, Hannibal. Me too," she replied with a sigh, her annoyance fading as the ice soothed and replaced the throbbing with only numbness.
"Now, then…" He trailed off, evidently distracted, and strode to the desk to set her purse down where she'd originally placed it; he took care to situate the bag just so, then promptly whacked it aside and she scoffed as she watched her phone, wallet, and keys go skidding across the floor.
"Was that entirely necessary?"
"Yes," he replied flatly, stepping around to open a drawer and retrieve his schedule. Flipping it open, he grabbed a pen and made some quick adjustments, then put it away as he looked over at her. "To avoid any unwanted questions regarding our… personal affairs," he explained, "I've switched your appointment for this week to today."
"Personal affairs," she repeated with an amused grin. "Alright… Maggie only thinks I've come to visit for my lunch break and she knows my appointments are always on Friday. Suppose I should call her?"
Hannibal started to shake his head, then stopped short. "Actually, yes. Given her track record, I doubt she'll be an issue."
Setting the makeshift icepack aside, Delilah slipped her shoes back on and carefully tiptoed around the mess to grab her phone. "You're lucky it didn't shatter," she mumbled as she dialed the café, watching Hannibal wander about out the corner of her eye.
"Paradise," Nathaniel's voice answered in a monotone.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she hissed under her breath. "I thought I told you to let Maggie deal with the talking to people?"
"Er…"
The line went silent for a moment, before she heard Maggie in the background: 'What is it? Who told you to answer the telephone?' After a bit of terse whispering, her chipper phone voice could be heard loud and clear. "Hello, this is Paradise Café, Maggie speaking!"
"Still happy you gave him the job?"
"Wha-… Delilah?" She laughed heartily. "Eh, he'll warm up eventually. What's up, buttercup?"
Delilah turned just in time to catch Hannibal picking up the bloodied letter opener with a handkerchief. "Er, well," she muttered distractedly, watching as he meticulously wiped the handle down, then gripped it tight in his own palm and stuffed the cloth into his pocket; he flexed his hand a few times, then let the letter opener clatter back down to the floor a couple feet away from Tobias' body.
Maggie cleared her throat. "Honey, you still there?"
Blinking rapidly, Delilah pried her eyes away to stare at the much less interesting fireplace. "Sorry, I just wanted to let you know that, um-… Well, if anybody asks, my usual Friday appointment was today, instead, and you already knew that — also, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a very extended lunch."
"Sure thing, sugar. Any idea how long you'll be?"
"Honestly, no. But I'll try to be back in time to help close, okay?"
"Oh, that's just fine," she replied, clearly unfazed by Delilah's peculiar behaviour.
"I love you, Maggie," she said earnestly, overwhelmed with gratitude for the woman's very existence.
Maggie tittered lightly. "I love you too, baby. Be safe, and I'll see ya when I see ya."
"Thank you."
"Anytime."
Delilah hung up, erased the call from the log, and carefully placed the phone back down exactly as she'd found it. She then turned to find Hannibal standing right behind her. "Good girl," he murmured with a wink and she bristled a little as her ears warmed.
"Now is certainly not the time for that sort of teasing," she replied moodily.
"Noted," he said, clearly amused, as he placed a hand on her back and began to guide her. "Come, let's get you cleaned up."
Past the refrigerator and several crystal decanters full of various alcohols, he led her to the sink and pumped a dollop of soap into her hands. "I am going to call Jack Crawford directly," he announced while she thoroughly scrubbed away the evidence of her involvement.
"Alright…"
"When he arrives, he may well ask you questions. Answer truthfully, until you can't." He paused to turn on the tap for her. "When you must lie, be vague. — 'He attacked me.' 'I fell and Doctor Lecter helped me up.' Lying with the truth is both easy and effective.
"If you find yourself in a position in which you must outright lie, say you can't remember; you don't know; or you were scared, but—"
"But what I do know is that the wonderful, handsome Doctor Lecter saved my life and I must find a way to… thoroughly thank him… at my earliest convenience?" She cut in cheekily.
"Now is not the time for such teasing," he warned, though his lips were twisted in a lopsided smirk.
When the water swirling down the drain ran clear, she shut off the tap and he handed her a tea towel; he waited patiently for her to dry her hands, then took the towel back and threw it away. "Any questions?" He asked, as he turned and headed back into the main room.
"Mm, no," she answered, cautiously winding her way back to the little teal sofa to make herself comfortable. "I think I can handle Jack's interrogation."
"I know you can," Hannibal said, lifting the office phone to his ear. "Be sure to cry, as well," he added while he dialed. "I know you are more than capable."
…
Hardly fifteen minutes had passed before sirens could be heard outside. Hannibal crossed to watch through the window as the cavalcade approached, and he sighed heavily. "Be warned, it's a spectacle," he said to Delilah, as he observed Jack throwing himself from his luxury SUV to bark orders at the others.
"I'm not surprised," he heard her reply sleepily, and he glanced over his shoulder to find her fighting to suppress a yawn.
"You are much too comfortable sharing a room with two corpses, my dear."
Delilah peered lazily over at him and pulled the ice-filled cloth away from her face. As he listened to Jack and the officers beginning to swarm through the front entrance, she unexpectedly flicked herself hard on the cheek and her eyes immediately began to sparkle with tears; she sniffled pathetically, and he stared in amusement as she cradled the ice to her face once more.
Jack barged onto the scene a moment later, only to stop short at Franklyn's corpse. He took a moment to look around at the destruction, his eyes lingering on Tobias' neck wound while the others piled in to do their various duties, before redirecting his attention to Hannibal. "We were organizing a search party for this asshole when you—" He faltered when he finally noticed Delilah, and did a double-take. "—You? More dead bodies and somehow you're involved, again?"
Mindful of the many eyes and ears all around them, Hannibal exaggerated a limp — which was merely a sore ankle — and stepped toward Jack. "I did tell you on the phone that I still had a patient present…"
"Yes, but you didn't tell me it was her," he spat, rounding on Delilah. "If you had something to do with this, you'd better speak up now or—"
"Miss Bloom has been injured, Jack," Hannibal cut in, struggling to keep his tone only gently accusatory. "Surely, she should be tended to before you accost her with unnecessary questions."
"Unnecessary?" Jack repeated in sheer disbelief.
"Yes, unnecessary," he replied levelly. "I don't think it is in your best interest to harass an innocent woman who has just been through a traumatic experience. She's already sufficiently terrified — there is no need to make it worse."
Jack simply glared at him for a moment, then scoffed and snapped his fingers at the paramedics loitering near the door. "You, deal with her," he commanded, flapping a hand in Delilah's general direction, and Hannibal felt his blood begin to boil.
Generally, he could force himself to tolerate Jack's posturing antics and often ridiculously short fuse but, this time, Hannibal found himself growing increasingly nettled by the man's flagrant carelessness.
"So, tell me," Jack snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and studying him imperiously. "What exactly the hell happened here?"
Dragging his upper lip between his teeth, Hannibal took a deep, meditative breath and held his hands open toward Jack — a sign of trustworthiness but, first and foremost as a means to conveniently draw attention to his bloody forearm. "I'm not entirely sure, myself, Jack. Miss Bloom and I were only at the beginning of her hour, when Franklyn unexpectedly arrived; he was hardly making sense, spouting concerns regarding a friend of his… It wasn't until Tobias showed up mere minutes later and broke Franklyn's neck, that I made the connection."
"This Franklyn was also a patient of yours?"
"Yes."
The pair of them glanced toward Franklyn's body and Jack sighed, scrubbing his forehead before bringing his hands to rest on his hips. "So… Tobias killed Franklyn," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on Hannibal's injury, "then he attacked you?"
"Yes."
Jack suddenly turned to Delilah. "And what the fuck were you doing?"
Delilah jolted, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked up in alarm. "I-… What?"
"You heard me," he sniped, his upper lip curled in disgust. "What, exactly, were you doing during all of this?
She stammered for a response, her eyes shimmering with tears, and Hannibal couldn't stop himself from stepping in. "What would you have had her do? Intervene?"
"Of course not. She should have called the police."
"I-I was afraid—"
"Then you should've run away!" He boomed at her, throwing his arms out and laughing humorlessly. "I mean, jesus christ, are you stupid?"
"That is entirely uncalled for," Hannibal admonished in a low voice, not wishing to stoop to his level of mindless shouting. "Forgive me for telling you how to do your job, but you are very much out of line here."
Jack opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Delilah's abrupt sobbing caught them both off-guard.
"I'm sorry!" She wailed, clutching her hands to her chest. "I wanted to run- to call for help- but my legs wouldn't work."
The paramedic at her side tried to calm her, but she had worked herself up into such a state that his pleas fell on deaf ears. Hannibal and Jack both stared as she looked up again; her wide, shimmering blue eyes were now a million miles away, as if she were reliving a horror all over again.
"When I saw him grab the knife, I was so scared he would k-…" Her voice broke and she took in a shuddering breath, gripping fistfuls of her blouse as she struggled to speak. "That he would k-… kill Doctor Lecter. All I could do was scream."
As she dissolved into yet more heart-wrenching sobs, Jack blinked and glanced back to Hannibal. "He had a knife?"
"It was a letter opener," he amended quietly.
Delilah sniffled, her entire body trembling as she continued. "W-When I screamed he-… He turned to me, a-and I was hit across the face." Her hand twitched up to her injured cheek, and she looked imploringly to Jack. "I'm so sorry," she said earnestly. "You're right. I sh-should have done something… anything."
Hannibal cleared his throat. "You have no reason to apologize," he told her firmly; he then turned back to Jack. "She distracted Tobias and afforded me the opportunity to disarm him. When he went after her I-… I feared for her life, Jack. I had to do what I felt was necessary."
"So, you killed him."
It wasn't quite a question, but Hannibal answered anyway. "I did, yes."
"Do you think he intended to kill her, then?"
"I am quite certain that he intended to kill us both."
Sighing heavily, Jack cursed under his breath and turned his back on them. He watched the investigators work for several long moments, before eventually turning to survey Hannibal with a resigned weariness in his eyes. "Shouldn't you have that looked at?" He asked, nodding toward his forearm.
Hannibal glanced down and shrugged. "I'll be alright."
"…You're sure?"
"Yes. It looks much worse than it is."
Jack pursed his lips and nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Alright, here's the deal. I feel obligated to apologize… To both of you," he added gruffly, though he only bothered to look at Hannibal. "This never should have happened. Budge shouldn't have been able to come here in the first place… My agents were executing a search warrant; the Baltimore PD should have done their job and kept him at the scene. I can't fathom how he managed to slip away."
"He seemed to be a rather slippery fellow," Hannibal remarked. "It's my job to understand the nuances of peoples' psyche and even I didn't pick up on the lengths of Tobias' depravity. You shouldn't blame yourself for this."
"Oh, trust me, I'm not," Jack replied darkly. "I'm blaming the useless beat cops who couldn't be bothered to keep eyes on the suspect." He let out a mirthless chortle. "I'm anticipating a very long conversation with the commissioner — someone will be fired before the week's out, I guarantee it."
Once the paramedic finished removing the shards of glass from Delilah's arm and had sufficiently bandaged her up, he asked whether she would like to be taken to the hospital, as was standard procedure; she politely declined and, while she signed paperwork confirming her refusal of transportation, Hannibal watched Jack give her a curious, sidelong glance.
When the paramedic had taken his leave, Jack snorted lightly. "Looks like you're both stubborn as mules."
"Unless I'm dying or bleeding from my eyes, I see no need to take up a hospital bed."
Hannibal's lips twitched in amusement. "Should you become stigmatic, I believe you would benefit more from making money off of religious extremists."
"I'm not convinced that bleeding from the eyes, alone, would be enough for them to empty their pockets…"
"You underestimate their naïveté."
"I suppose," she replied with a weak titter.
"What the hell are you two talking about?" Jack cut in, one eyebrow raised in bewilderment. "You know what, never mind," he added quickly. "I'm guessing the purse over there is yours, Miss Bloom?"
Delilah abruptly pulled the chemical cold pack she'd been given away from her cheek, and her head twitched in an approximation of a nod. "Y-Yes. My things fell out…" She trailed off, eyeing her scattered belongings.
"Let me check in with my men real quick, but you should be able to grab what you need."
"Okay," she whispered, watching after him as he stalked off to speak with the forensic photographer.
A few moments later, Jack waved her over and waited beside the desk, passively observing her while she moved to stuff everything, including the cold pack, into her purse; when she was finished, she straightened up and awkwardly mumbled her thanks.
"No problem," he replied. "I can arrange for a patrol car to take you home, if you'd like? You shouldn't be driving after a blow to the head."
"Oh, uh…" She smiled uncomfortably and her gaze flickered toward Hannibal. "I don't have a car, anyway, so I guess—"
"I can just take her," Hannibal offered, moving to join them. "I would very much like to head home, myself."
"Sounds good," Jack replied briskly; it was obvious he truly could not care less. "I'll let you know when we're done here," he added, looking to Hannibal. "And I'll make sure the commissioner foots the bill for the cleanup. It's the least he can do."
"Oh, no, that's quite alright. I'd rather hire the best and we can't guarantee he won't just settle for the cheapest."
"Ah, yeah, I don't blame you," he said with a laugh. "See you around, then… Oh and, Miss Bloom?" He paused and studied her, his eyes tight as he seemed to contemplate doing something he didn't quite want to do.
"Is… something wrong, Agent Crawford?"
"My wife keeps meaning to call you, for lunch or something," he said. Traces of hesitance still laced his tone, though this appeared to be his way of extending the olive branch.
"Oh, um—"
"I'll let her know you need a few days to recover, then have her finally get in touch, alright?"
Delilah blinked at him, clearly taken aback. "Yea- uh… Yes, please. That would be nice."
"Alright. Feel better, Miss Bloom."
"Thank you."
After exchanging a nod with Jack, Hannibal was mindful to keep a respectable distance as he guided Delilah out of the office and, eventually, away from the building. Once they were securely in the car and on their way, he heard her let out a great sigh of relief and had to suppress a laugh.
"Have you ever entertained the idea of becoming a professional actress?" He inquired, grinning as he glanced sideways to watch the heat rush to her cheeks.
"Mm-mm." Delilah shook her head firmly. "And condemn myself to a life of trying to evade the paparazzi? No, thank you."
"You just assume you would be so successful, hm?"
"Well, sure. You don't?"
Hannibal chuckled. "From what I've been fortunate enough to witness, I would be a fool not to agree… The thought of eager vultures spying on you with cameras doesn't much appeal to me, either."
She reached across to rest her arm on his shoulder, her fingernails pleasantly raking through the back of his hair. "Why," she asked, her tone amused. "Because it would run the risk of them nabbing a few candid shots of yourself, as well?
"Hardly," he replied with a dismissive snort. "I'm a very selfish man, Delilah. I have no interest in sharing you with others."
Delilah hummed softly. "In that case, I suppose I am a very selfish woman, as well," she mused and he grinned, reaching out to brush his knuckles against her cheek.
"Wait," she said abruptly, sounding alarmed. "Where are you going?"
"To Alana's," he replied bemusedly.
"But I have to see Maggie first. It's barely three-thirty and I told her I'd help close."
"She will understand—"
"I certainly can't tell her about this over the phone," she argued, gesturing pointedly to her face and bandages. "And if I just show up tomorrow looking like a victim of domestic violence, she'll flip out. I need to—"
"Enough," he cut across her gently. "The only thing you need to do, now, is crawl into bed and get some rest."
"But… It won't take long," she tried, her bottom lip jutting out slightly.
"We are less than a block away," he said, ignoring her pouting. "It would be highly inconvenient to turn around now."
Delilah sniffed indignantly and pursed her lips, but she finally seemed unable to come up with a suitable argument.
"How about a compromise," Hannibal suggested after a moment. "I will pay a visit to Mrs. Cartwright."
A startled laugh escaped her and he shot her an inquisitive glance. "Well, I mean, alright. If you insist…"
Choosing to ignore the amused warning in her tone, Hannibal smiled and took her hand to press her fingers to his lips. "I do, indeed, insist."
…
When the short remainder of the drive to Alana's apartment building came to a close and Hannibal had parked in the usual spot, Delilah automatically unbuckled her seatbelt but stayed put; she stared pensively out the windshield, not quite seeing anything beyond the glass.
"Is something troubling you?" Hannibal inquired.
"No… Well, actually," she amended, shifting around in her seat to face him. "I-… I'm just thinking," she finished unhelpfully.
Hannibal's brow knitted further the longer she held her tongue. "Tell me," he said, the words more persuasive than commanding.
"I killed that man."
"You did, yes."
"And you covered for me."
He nodded. "It was the only option, given Jack's involvement."
"And I-…" She inhaled tremulously, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. "I-I'm okay?"
"I believe so…" Hannibal canted his head and smiled bemusedly. "Did you anticipate not being okay?"
"Honestly? Yes." She laughed a little to keep herself from falling to pieces. "I've been losing my mind for so long, I guess I've just come to expect it. Things are so easy, now… Too easy, perhaps? It's more unsettling, somehow."
"You'd grown accustomed to slipping in and out of reality. It's perfectly understandable to think another slip may be inevitable."
"Inevitable…"
"But it's not, Delilah," he said sternly. "You are stronger than you realize; stronger than so many have bothered to give you credit for."
"I suppose, if I hadn't killed him, you may have—"
"Concern for my wellbeing played a part, sure," he admitted slowly, sounding unconvinced. "Though I'm often disinclined to agree with him, Jack was fairly correct in his crude assessment of your behaviour today — there were many other, less brutal and even easier ways you could have intervened.
"Rather than reach for your cellphone and call nine-one-one… you watched. You waited. You weren't content to simply distract him enough to give me an upper hand. You willingly participated and took his life."
"But he-… He admitted to murdering someone else," she countered. "He planned to kill Franklyn—"
"Yes, but neither excuse what you did. And, if you recall, I killed Franklyn."
Delilah swallowed thickly, blinking back fresh tears. "I'm sorry, a-are you trying to make me feel—"
"Guilty? No." He leaned over the center console and cupped her chin, gently forcing her to hold his gaze. "On the contrary, I am urging you to accept it, Delilah. Sans excuses. Tobias Budge had done nothing to you, personally, and I think you know full well I would have ended him myself. Yet, you chose to drive a blade into his neck and sever his carotid artery — quite efficiently, might I add — and not for revenge, but because you wanted to."
"To be fair, you did set me up for that," she said, a corner of her mouth twitching upward.
"I did. Are you insinuating, then, that you did not wish to kill him?"
Dragging her teeth over her bottom lip, she slowly shook her head.
"Do you regret—"
Delilah quickly shook her head again.
"Then the question, of course, becomes…" He leaned near enough that his nose was an inch from hers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Did you enjoy it?"
Delilah momentarily froze as she searched his eyes. Finding no trace of judgement within their depths, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his in silent answer. Hannibal's hand instantly released her chin to grip her throat and he squeezed tight enough to make her head swim. He seemed to be actively restraining himself from deepening the kiss — likely in an effort not to compromise the wound in her mouth — but he relaxed his hold just as swiftly and she took in a great gasp of air, absently reaching for her neck as he settled back in his seat; her breathing regulated with ease and he surveyed her with that same, fiercely intense gaze he'd given back at the office.
"Words do not suffice to express just how proud I am to call you mine," he finally said, a visceral sincerity in his tone.
Her breath caught of its own accord and, feeling a bizarre amalgamation of self-satisfaction and inexplicable timidity, she could scarcely do more than blink at him. As she internally scrambled for words that would make some semblance of sense, Hannibal stepped out of the vehicle and snapped the door shut behind himself.
She watched dazedly as he traveled around the hood of the car, to open her door, and took her purse before offering his hand.
"Let's get you inside," he said, gesturing in a come-hither motion with his fingers.
Delilah inhaled shakily and nodded, allowing him to pull her from the car and lead her up to the apartment. He extricated her keys from her purse and unlocked the door, following close and shutting it behind them; he then took her by the hand again and guided her to her own bedroom.
The silence was heavy enough that the soft click of him switching on the light caused her to startle, and he shushed her gently. "Shoes off," he instructed, and she stepped out of her flats at once. Hannibal took it upon himself to set them aside, then placed her purse upon the vanity. "How do you sleep," he asked, and she blinked in confusion.
"How do I…?"
"What do you wear to bed," he clarified, an amused lilt to his tone.
"Oh, right." She pointed to the closet and started toward it, but he held up a hand to stop her. "Um… The far left side."
Sliding open the closet door, he scanned briefly before choosing a red, silk nightdress; he laid it out on the bed, then beckoned her to him and again she complied without hesitation. Without a word he began to undress her, starting with her blouse.
Slowly and carefully lifting her uninjured arm, he tugged the short sleeve up and over as she lowered her arm and slipped it through; he eased the cotton fabric over her head before holding the other sleeve taut and deftly pulling it down, over her bandages. Tossing the shirt into the hamper, he then unbuttoned her slacks and circled behind her as he pushed them down her hips. The moment they landed at her feet, she felt her bra unexpectedly come loose, as well, and she laughed in surprise.
"Smooth," she said and he chuckled as she delicately cleared her throat. Pressing his lips to the sensitive hollow between her neck and shoulder, he carefully slid the straps down — still managing not to disturb her bandages — and let her bra tumble to the floor.
Delilah was forced to swallow a whimper when he abruptly moved away to collect the nightdress; he grinned impishly down at her and eased the cool silk over her head, helping her slip her arms through, before brushing her curls back out of her face. He took a moment to run his hands down her sides, smoothing the fabric, then instructed quietly, "To bed with you."
She had half a mind to argue, to demand he stay, but the thrall of her pillows and linens were, surprisingly, much more compelling; her head was numb from all the emotion and stress of the day, and her body was quite sore — the fact that Alana could likely show up at any moment was also an obnoxiously pervasive deciding factor, but she didn't much like to dwell on the precarious nature of their relationship if she could help it.
"Thank you," she murmured, briefly leaning up on her toes to kiss his lips before crawling into bed and snuggling down. "Lemme know how your visit with Maggie goes," she added, snickering around a yawn.
Hannibal merely gave her a lopsided smile, and she watched lazily as he then turned to gather up the remaining articles of discarded clothing. After placing them in the hamper, as well, he retrieved her cellphone from her purse and placed it on the nightstand for her.
"Sleep well," he said, bending down to kiss her one last time, and she watched him go as her much-too-heavy eyelids fluttered shut.
…
Upon parking directly in front of Paradise Café, Hannibal killed the engine and flipped down the sun visor to check his reflection. There was nothing to be done about the slightly swollen bruise that stained his cheekbone, but he did take a moment to clean the few smears of blood still on his face. Buttoning his tattered shirtsleeve, he stepped out of the car and tugged the sleeve of his suit jacket down, over the bloodied mess, in hopes that it wouldn't be noticed.
The sign on the door had already been flipped, but the lights were still on and he could see Maggie inside, cleaning the machines. He rapped smartly on the glass and she startled, looking up and squinting to see just who couldn't be bothered to read. Her eyes widened a second later, recognition dawning, and she bustled over to open the door.
"Doctor Lecter, what a surprise!" She exclaimed, smiling kindly up at him; she then glanced swiftly to his left and right, and her face instantly fell. "Where's Delilah?"
Hannibal offered her a somber smile. "I am loathe to be the bearer of unpleasant news, Mrs. Cartwright, but there was an incident at my office today." Before she could panic too much, he added, "Delilah is safe and well, now, I assure you — the only way I could convince her to get some rest was to promise to come speak with you."
She let out a halfhearted chuckle and shook her head. "That's my girl," she muttered. "Well, come on in and tell me what happened — Nathaniel," she added in a holler, "you go on now. I'll finish up with that later."
Following her inside, Hannibal glanced around curiously and found the young man standing off to the right with a broom clutched tight in his hands; he looked around helplessly for a moment, then very delicately laid the broom down in the middle of the floor.
"O-Okay then," he muttered, eyeing Hannibal warily as he stepped over the handle.
Hannibal turned slowly to watch, deeply amused, as Nathaniel edged toward the exit; he made a point to gave Hannibal a wide berth, and ended up knocking into a couple tables along his way. He had just made contact with the door handle when Maggie instructed him to be back at five-thirty sharp the next morning, and he mumbled another 'okay' before scurrying out the door.
"Interesting young man," Hannibal remarked, moving to the counter.
Maggie snorted. "That's one way to put it." She ducked down to rummage around beneath the counter for a moment before coming up with two coffee mugs. "The machines are down for the night, but how 'bout some tea?"
"Ah… Yes, please," he said, choosing to be polite while hoping he could still make this brief.
"Any requests?" She asked as she started the kettle.
Hannibal shook his head. "Whatever you prefer will be just fine."
"Alright, sugar," she muttered, scanning the jars that decorated the wall; he watched her grab the Rooibos and had to fight the urge to tell her that it was technically a tisane, not tea. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable," she added. "I'll bring it along shortly."
Suppressing a sigh, he moved to the nearest table and took down the chairs, making sure his forearm was fully covered before sitting down to wait.
When she came bustling over with two piping hot mugs of earthy-sweet-scented, slightly honeyed red liquid, he smiled graciously and accepted a cup. "Thank you."
"Of course." Maggie squinted at him for a moment, then frowned. "So… you just had an 'incident,' eh," she said, staring concernedly at the angry bruising on his face. "Looks like you got your ass handed to you, hon."
"Yes, well, you should see the other guy," he replied with a snort before taking a sip of his beverage.
She finally settled into the chair across from him and laughed halfheartedly, sounding unconvinced. "How much worse off is he, then?"
"He's dead," Hannibal replied matter-of-factly.
Maggie froze in the midst of bringing her cup to her lips and her eyebrows shot to the heavens; she took a long, slow pull of her drink before clearing her throat. "Well, then… I'd say he's significantly worse off. How bad is Delilah?"
"She has a split on the inside of her cheek and required the removal of some glass fragments — but she will be just fine," he added swiftly, catching the maternal flash of worry in her eyes. "I promise."
Shaking her head, Maggie sighed heavily and sat her cup down on the table. "Well, thank you for taking care of our girl again, Doctor Lecter. You should get home and get some rest, yourself, now."
Grateful for an out, Hannibal nodded and rose from his seat. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Cartwright."
"Now, you just— good gracious!" She exclaimed, and he followed her suddenly horrified gaze to discover that his sleeve had ridden up.
"It's nothing-…" He tried, but she was already rushing off toward the back of the café, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to quell his frustration. She returned moments later with a first aid kit, which she noisily slammed down onto the table and yanked open. "I can manage at h—"
"Oh hush," she snapped genially, gathering two fat rolls of gauze and a generous handful of antibacterial ointment packets. "I know you won't let me tend to you, but I want you to take these and I don't want any fuss," she said, shoving them at him.
Annoyed though he was, Hannibal couldn't help but smile — she was such a genuinely kind, caring woman. "Thank you, Mrs. Cartwright," he said, accepting the items and slipping them into his jacket pockets.
"Oh, none of that now," she tutted, flapping a hand at him. "You just call me Maggie, you hear?"
"Alright," he acquiesced, briefly inclining his head. "Thank you, Maggie."
Mercy Hospital
Neurology Dept. Parking Lot
— 11:58 PM
Storming across the lot, Alana threw herself into her vehicle and tried calling her sister for the umpteenth time since seven PM. When the call went to voicemail, yet again, she hung up and sped away from the hospital; she was trying very hard not to panic and think the absolute worst, but the stress of Will's current predicament wasn't helping matters.
She made it home in record time, grateful she hadn't caught a speeding ticket along the way, and scrambled up the steps to her apartment. The moment she set foot inside, she hollered for Delilah but there was no response; she slammed the door and subsequently winced, realizing much too late that it was well past midnight by now. Muttering an apology to no one in particular, she rushed through to Delilah's bedroom door, flipping the hallway light on along the way, and wrenched it open.
"Delilah?!"
The lump on the bed groaned and rolled over. "…Alana, wha-?" Delilah mumbled blearily, shielding her eyes against the light as she struggled to sit up.
Alana cursed under her breath in relief and stalked into the room to sit down on the edge of her bed. "Why haven't you been answering my calls?"
"I've been sle-eepin'," she replied around a yawn, scrubbing at her eyes, and Alana gasped when she noticed Delilah's arm was wrapped in bandages.
"Did something-… What happened to you?"
Delilah squinted in confusion, at first, then looked down at her arm and groaned again. "Right, yeah," she grumbled, sounding embarrassed but quite a bit more awake now. "Uh… Well…"
Alana simply pursed her lips and waited impatiently.
"Okay, listen, don't freak out—"
But Alana's eyes were already wide with alarm; really, there was only so much more she could take at this point. "Don't freak out about what," she snapped through gritted teeth.
After a long, suffering sigh, Delilah finally launched into an explanation. As far as Alana could tell, her usual Friday appointment had been switched to today; one man had showed up in a panic, and another arrived to kill him; the killer succeeded, then attacked Hannibal, and somehow Delilah had been caught in the middle. "But I'm fine, really," she finished earnestly. "I just have this little split in my mouth and some minor cuts… Probably some bruises. But that's all."
"That's all…" Alana repeated skeptically. She then leaned to the side, to let the light hit Delilah directly; apart from the bandages and some puffiness on the right side of her face, she had to admit that Delilah did seem relatively okay.
"Yes," she replied with a half-smile of reassurance. "I was seen by a paramedic after everything happened."
"Well… Let me see," she demanded, reaching out, but Delilah swatted her hand away at once.
"How about… no? If I open my mouth wide enough for you to see, I'll just reopen the wound and it'll take longer to heal," she said. "Look at me, Alana, I'm fine."
Alana scrutinized her face for a long moment, then let out a defeated sigh and shook her head. "Fine… You're fine. And Hannibal…?"
"Some bruising. Some deeper cuts than mine — the guy attacked him with a metal… string, or something? But he seemed alright. He dropped me off and offered to make sure Maggie was aware of what happened."
Too tired to be upset anymore, Alana buried her face in her hands and took a few deep, steadying breaths. "Good," she muttered against her palms. "I'm glad you're both alright."
"Me too." There was a moment of silence before she asked softly, "So, why are you just now getting home? …And why did you call me so many times?"
Alana glanced up to find Delilah scrolling through her phone and she cringed. "Just-… Just delete those," she muttered. "They get progressively more… shrill."
With a light snort, she nodded and, much to Alana's relief, appeared to delete the inordinate amount of voicemails.
Alana smoothed her hands over her knees and kicked off her shoes before curling her legs under herself. "Will had an allergic reaction to one of his medications," she explained quietly. "His blood oxygen level took a nosedive but, apparently, it's a known side-effect; they switched it out for something else and he should be fine… But I don't know. I should head back."
"Head back?" Delilah repeated incredulously. "Why?"
"What do you mean why?" Alana snapped. "I'm worried about—"
Delilah scoffed and waved a hand at her. "Yes, yes, we're all worried, but you can't do anything about it now. Do they even allow visitors at this hour; what are you gonna do, sleep on the waiting room floor?"
"No. They kicked me out of the waiting room, anyway," she replied, feeling her face burn with humiliation as she spoke. "I-… I was gonna sleep in my car."
"Oh my god, Alana, stop. Go sleep in your own damn bed."
"But—"
"You can visit first thing tomorrow," Delilah continued, raising her voice just enough to drown her out, "without crippling back pain."
Alana pursed her lips and scowled down at her hands. The thought of losing Will hurt more than she cared to admit; she wanted to be able to be at his side at a moment's notice… She supposed sleeping in her car really was a stupid idea, though.
"Wha're you even wo-orried about?" She heard Delilah ask, her words distorted around a shaky yawn. "I mean, he's in a hospital bed, under constant monitoring, and you said yourself he should be fine now."
"…You're right," she finally said, pushing a hand through her hair and forcing a smile. "I know. I know, I'm being stupid." Clearing her throat, she got up from the bed and grabbed her shoes. "You should go back to sleep."
"Mmkay, g'night."
Alana took one last look over her shoulder to catch Delilah already sinking back down into her pillows. "Goodnight," she muttered, pulling the door shut and heading off to bed, herself.
— Thursday
Delilah awoke abruptly and with a wince, her entire body sore beyond reason. She reached blindly for her cellphone and tugged it from the nightstand, squinting at the screen to find that it was half-past ten the following morning. "Jesus christ," she croaked, licking her dry lips as she fought to escape the confines of her covers. Judging by the time, and the fact that the woman hadn't yet popped out from around a corner, she figured Alana must have already headed back to the hospital.
Staggering to the bathroom, she quickly took care of her bladder, then leaned on the counter and kept her eyes purposely fixed on her hands as she washed them. Vain though it may be, she was mildly afraid to look in the mirror, nervous of what she would find. She dried her hands for much longer than necessary, taking care to rehang the towel evenly on the rod, before finally gathering up the courage to turn and face her reflection.
"Huh," she muttered, pleasantly surprised. Where she'd expected to find a monstrous, ugly bruise, there was none. Her cheek was still a bit tender to the touch, of course, but the swelling had gone down considerably. The ice packs must have done their job yesterday… Either that, or Hannibal had hit her just hard enough, and in just such a way, as to not cause any visible damage to her face — but that was absurd, right?
"Yes, dumb ass," she answered her own unspoken question, laughing at herself as she unwrapped her dressings.
Underneath, she found only a few minor cuts and scrapes, along with one small, already purpling bruise near her shoulder. Tossing the bandages into the wastebasket, she then lifted the hem of her nightdress and discovered the culprit causing the pain in her hip — a much larger, welt of a bruise — which was sure to look heinous in the coming days. Thankfully, it would be easily hidden beneath her clothing; she felt quite confident that no one would be able to outwardly tell that she'd been injured, at all.
After a long, hot shower soothed her tense muscles, she swiped some antibacterial ointment on her arm, then very gingerly brushed her teeth. After pushing through a warm saltwater rinse for the split in her cheek, she dressed in loose, comfortable clothes and wandered into the kitchen to microwave a cup of yesterday's coffee. Holding the ceramic to her cheek as an impromptu heating pad, she reentered her bedroom with the intent to call Maggie, and was startled by her phone ringing; she picked it up to find Hannibal was calling, and answered at once.
"Good morning, Delilah," he said, the rich rumble of his voice sending pleasant tingles along her scalp. "How are you feeling today?"
"Mm, good morning," she replied. "Apart from some aches and the itchiness of healing, I'm feeling quite alright. And you?"
Hannibal chuckled softly. "Much the same…"
He fell silent for a long moment, but Delilah could hear a faint, intermittent tapping sound that assured her he was still on the line; suspecting that he may have something more to say, she took a few sips of her already lukewarm coffee and waited.
"I do not wish to wait an entire week to see you again," he finally said.
The simple honesty of his words sent a fresh wave of butterflies aflutter in her stomach, and she had to take a steadying breath.
"So, I propose," he continued before she could find her voice, "that you see me twice a week, from now on. You've just been through a traumatic event, after all. You need… extra care. Do you disagree?"
"No, not at all," she replied quickly, and was amused to hear the tapping cease in response — if she didn't know better, she would have thought perhaps he was nervous she'd decline. Silly. "Which days—"
"Tuesdays and Fridays."
Delilah attempted another swig of coffee to stifle the giddy laughter that threatened to escape her — but in her distracted state, she accidentally sloshed it down her front instead. "Shit," she hissed, scrambling to set the cup down.
"Everything alright?"
"Mhm, just seem to have a hole in my lip… One moment, please," she said, tossing her phone onto the bed so she could remove her shirt; she scurried to the bathroom to rinse it under the tap, then laid it over the edge of the tub and rushed back down the hall. The moment she lifted the phone to her ear, the dull beeping of an incoming call gave her pause and she glanced at the screen. "Now Maggie's calling me," she announced with a huff.
"It's just as well," Hannibal said, clearly amused. "Cleanup is scheduled to arrive at the office shortly and I refuse to let them run amok without supervision."
Delilah snorted lightly. "Yes, alright… So, I'll see you Tuesday?"
"Tuesday," Hannibal confirmed; then, as if he could read her mind, he added, "I think our usual time should suffice."
"Sounds perfect. Have a good day."
"And you, my dear."
Switching the call, Delilah flopped back on her bed to stare up at the ceiling. "Good morning. Is the café still in once piece or—"
"Morning?" Maggie interrupted with a cackle. "Child, it's nearly noon!"
"Technically still morning, Mags. We don't all wake with the birds…"
"Pff. Anyway, I just wanted to check in. How are you doin', sugar?"
"Oh, I'm good. So, Hannibal spoke with you yesterday?"
"Yep, he sure did. Oh, you poor babies," she whispered sadly. "There's so many violent people in this world… I'm just glad nothing worse happened to you two."
"Me too," Delilah muttered. The image of the letter opener in Tobias' hand flashed across her mind, and she felt her heart stall just as it had then; she closed her eyes tight and shook her head to rid herself of it. "S-So, how's it going with Mister Laconic?"
"We're doing just great — don't you worry yourself about us, now. I don't want you back here for a week, at least, you hear me?"
Delilah groaned and rolled her eyes. "Maggie, please. I'm—"
"I don't give a rat's furry patoot," she cut in sharply. "I've got Nathaniel and you've got healin' up to do. If I find so much as a scratch on you the next time you show your face, I'll kick you right the hell out."
"…Fine."
"Good."
She hesitated for a second, then whined petulantly, "But I'll be so bored!"
"Tough shit. Well, I've gotta get back to the grind." She paused to bark out a laugh at her own silly joke. "Hey, that was a good one! Anywho, I'll talk to you later, honey."
"Okay. Take care, Maggie."
Delilah shoved her phone away, listening absently as it slipped off the bed to land on the floor with a soft thud, and scowled at the ceiling fan. An entire week off from work sounded utterly abysmal. Lifting herself up onto her elbows, she glanced around purposefully, as if inspiration would magically show itself if only she looked hard enough — and, show itself, it suddenly did.
While she didn't plan to leave Alana anytime soon, she certainly intended to do so eventually; before the end of the year, at least. So, in preparation, she chose to spend most of the day cleaning and organizing her belongings. She combed through every square foot of her bedroom, purging herself of needless things, and it was well past four in the afternoon when Alana finally returned.
In the midst of sorting through her clothes, she heard Alana trudge down the hall and come to a stop in her doorway. Delilah glanced up from her cross-legged position on the floor and offered her a half-smile. "Hey… Have you been at the hospital all day?"
"No, I had a class today." Before Delilah could ask, she exhaled heavily and continued, "Will is… better. Going a little stir-crazy, but they said he's doing well enough with the new medication, so far, that they should be able to go ahead with his plasma treatment tomorrow."
"That's great. Do they have any idea when he'll be set free?"
Alana shrugged and wandered into the room. "They said, apart from the little snag yesterday, his body is responding well. He's scheduled for another scan next week, to make sure the swelling's gone down, so…" She trailed off, and appeared suddenly mystified as she seemed to finally notice the chaos. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, um…" Delilah glanced about at the heaps of clothes, as well, and made a split-second decision to take another stab at the whole honesty thing — seeing as it had worked out well enough the night before. "I'm just trying to get rid of some stuff. All of that is going to donation." She nodded to a small mountain to her left. "Figure it'll make the move go a bit smoother, when the time comes…"
There was a moment's pause, in which Delilah's stomach twisted uncomfortably; she peered sideways up at her sister and held her breath, nervously awaiting her reaction.
"Good idea," Alana finally said, dropping to join her on the floor and studying the aforementioned donation pile with interest. "Could I look through these?"
Delilah exhaled loudly and laughed in relief. "Of course you can," she replied, using both arms to bulldoze the clothes nearer to Alana. "That dress is in there, by the way. The one you wore to Doctor Lecter's. Don't think I'll ever get around to having it hemmed, so you might as well keep it."
"Thanks," she said, beginning to rummage through; she then paused and looked Delilah square in the eye. "I really am happy you're doing this."
"What, cleaning?"
"No, moving out," she said with a snort. "I'll miss you, of course, but… You were right. We get along better when we're actually able to miss each other."
Delilah blinked in surprise and smiled — this was going much better than she could have hoped. "Yeah, well… Just to be clear, I don't plan to go until Will's out of the hospital."
"What? Why?"
"Uhm…" She floundered, caught off-guard by the sheer bewilderment in Alana's tone. "I-I just don't think you should be alone while—"
"Oh, please." Alana scoffed, continuing to pick through the clothes. "I've lived alone for a long time, Delilah. I can handle it."
"Okay… Well, good. I desperately need that walk-in closet, anyway."
"You sure do," she said. "Jesus christ, how have you accumulated so much crap?"
"None of this is crap," Delilah grumbled, feeling slightly defensive. "I just like nice things."
After a few beats of silence, Alana dropped the blouse she was holding and leaned forward. "Whatever you do, just… please don't stop going to therapy, okay?"
"I wasn't planning to?" She said bemusedly.
"Good… Good." She sighed, lifting the blouse again and staring fixedly at it. "You know I'm proud of you, right? You've come such a long way…"
"Thanks to Doctor Lecter."
"No, it's not just because of him. Therapy is a two-way street. You opened up and accepted his help, even after all of the terrible therapists you'd been through… It took guts to give him a chance, and I don't think I've ever really acknowledged that."
Delilah stared at her in shock, feeling tears sting her nose. "Thank you," she said thickly. "That's so-… Just, thank you."
"Of course," Alana said, her words just as choppy with emotion.
Scrubbing at her nose, Delilah exhaled and cleared her throat loudly, searching for a lighter topic. "So, um, speaking of therapy… Doctor Lecter has suggested that I see him twice a week, from now on. He thinks I may need the extra sessions to fully process what happened yesterday."
"That's very kind of him," she replied, sounding hesitant, as if she expected her to be upset by the idea.
"I agree," Delilah said. She pursed her lips to stop herself from laughing at the relieved exhale that abruptly escaped Alana. "Honestly, I think I'm fine. But it should help break up the excruciating monotony that's to come, at least."
Alana's brow twisted in confusion. "What?"
"Maggie is convinced I'm an invalid," she said with a huff. "She refuses to let me return to the café for a week."
"Whaaat, really? No way." Her words were so positively drenched in sarcasm that it was almost painful, and Delilah could only glare at her.
"Oh come on," Alana continued, rolling her eyes. "I barely know the woman and even I'm not surprised. She really seems to care about you. It's sweet."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "I can still be grumpy about it."
"Uh-huh…" Alana acknowledged distractedly, examining a navy blue camisole dress with a scandalized expression. "What the hell is this, lingerie?"
"It's a dress, you absolute prude." She yanked the garment from her grasp, intending to put it away, then paused. "Actually, it would look great on you," she said, tossing it back to Alana. "Take it."
"You do realize that I'm about half a foot taller than you, right? This is barely gonna cover my—"
"Even better!"
"Hell no," Alana clipped, balling up the dress and preparing to chuck it at her.
"That's fine," she muttered loftily. "I'll just be sure to sneak it into your closet later."
Scowling deeply, she blindly flung it at her growing collection of 'new' clothes instead. "There. Happy?"
"Much!" Delilah replied with a smug grin.
"You're incorrigible."
"I know."